Page 36 of Deceiver

Something about that has my defensive walls rising a little too fast.

It’s controlling and, coming from him, a little scary.

“No matterwhat, no matterhow, you’llalwayscome back.”

The response I’m certain he was hoping for isn’t the one he gets. I push off him, his cock sliding from inside me and landing against his belly, firm and throbbing, coated in my arousal. His eyes flash, and he reaches for me, but I take a step back. “Is that what you think? That I’m so pathetic I can’t move on? That I can’t get over you? That no matter what you do or say, I’ll come running back?”

He doesn’t answer me, his eyes don’t even move a single bit.

“Answer me!”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

No.

Is he trying to push me away?

Is he trying to make me hate him?

I’m almost certain he is, because he surely wouldn’t be saying the things he is if he wasn’t trying to send me over the edge with the kind of hate there is no coming back from. His words are crushing, but he knows that. It’s why he’s saying them. Calmly, I straighten myself up, not showing a single ounce of emotion as I smooth down my dress.

He doesn’t move.

As always, he stares at me with those vacant eyes.

I’m so tired of him looking at me like I mean nothing.

“If you want any more of me, then you’re going to give all of yourself, otherwise, from now on, we’re nothing more than business partners.”

I jut my chin out at the end of my sentence and turn, walking out of the shed.

Proud of myself, even just for a moment.

As soon as I’m outside, the cool air hits my skin, and I’m determined to walk out of here with my pride intact. Western might think he has the upper hand, but I’m not going to allow it any longer. I’m getting the hell out of here, and I’m going to try and heal my heart because damned if that biker takes any more from me.

I take two steps towards the group of people when I hear it, the distinct sound of gunfire.

It comes out of nowhere, echoing through the black night with a popping sound. The kind of sound you never think you’ll hear in your life. The kind of sound that makes your skin crawl and your body go into fight or flight, turning into a statue as you try to figure out what the hell is going on.

I can’t seem to move, my feet are firmly planted on the ground, even though I know I should run. Eyes darting, I try to see into the distance, and there are bikers running really fast, barking things I can’t even seem to make out. A woman screams. Another shot rings out.

What the hell is going on?

“Western!” I finally manage to screech.

Without a second to process, I find myself face first on the ground, dirt covering my face as a hard form flattens me out from behind. Coughing and gasping, I struggle, terrified. Western’s low, gravelly voice fills my ears as he growls, “Go in the shed. Lock the door. Donotfuckin’ come out. Gun beside the bed. Use it if you’re in danger.”

Gasping in both shock and fear, I nod as he pushes off me.

Without looking back, I crawl toward the shed just as another shot rings out.

What the hell is going on?

Why is someone shooting at the club?

~*~*~*~*~

IDON’T KNOW HOW LONGI sit there; it could be minutes; it could be hours. My back is pressed against the shed door, my knees are up near my chest, and I’m closing my eyes, trying to drown out the yelling coming from outside. The gunshots stopped, but the chaos hasn’t. All I can hear are bellows of rage, and maybe pain. Is someone hurt? Is Western hurt? It feels as though time is going so slowly, and the panic lodged in my chest is making it hard to concentrate on staying calm.

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